


I Fell

by I_am_lampy



Series: Open Your Eyes [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, Fix-It, Idiots in Love, M/M, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-27 01:59:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10799343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_am_lampy/pseuds/I_am_lampy
Summary: "Here's your tea," John said. "Sherlock? Are you okay?"Sherlock looked at the cup of tea like it held all the answers. Then he looked up at John."Why wasn't I enough?" Sherlock asked, feeling the tears burning in his eyes, trying to keep them back."Enough for what?" John said."Why wasn't I enough for you? I fell to save you but it wasn't enough. Why wasn't it enough?"





	I Fell

* * *

 

"I could use a cuppa," John said, heading for the kitchen like he still lived there. Sherlock had to close his eyes against the vise that tightened around his chest at the thought.

"That sounds wonderful," he said and opened his eyes.

He went into the kitchen with John and pulled down two mugs and got out two teabags. John looked up at him, his eyes widened in surprise.

"What?" Sherlock asked, knowing very well why John looked surprised.

"You're helping me make tea," John said.

"Yes," Sherlock said and looked at the mugs, straightening them along the edge of the counter. He dropped the teabags in.

"Thank you," John said.

"I've changed since – you know."

"I know," John said quietly. He looked up at Sherlock and smiled but his eyes were sad. "Go ahead and sit down and I'll bring this in."

Sherlock nodded and walked back into the sitting room and sat down.

_Emotional context, Sherlock. It destroys you every time._

"I saw Eurus yesterday," Sherlock said to John.

"Yeah?" John asked tightly. "How'd it go?"

Sherlock watched John put his hands on the counter, his shoulders tight.

"We played the violin together."

"Why?"

"Why did we play the violin together?"

"No, Sherlock," John said carefully, stepping out of the shadows of the kitchen. "Why do you go see her? She spent five minutes with Moriarty eight years ago, Sherlock, and everything bad that happened to us since is a result of that."

_Five minutes. It took her just five minutes to do all of this to us._

"She's my sister," Sherlock said quietly.

"Nope," John said, shaking his head, his jaw tight. "No, I know you, Sherlock, and I think you go because you're curious. You want to know _how_ she does it."

Sherlock's eyes swept to the side and he grimaced and lowered his eyes to his empty hands. They were shaking.

"I keep thinking I can save you," Sherlock whispered.

_(I fell and nothing was ever right again.)_

"What?" John asked, his nostrils flaring.

"Nothing," Sherlock said, brushing it away with a brief sweep of his hand.

"This is why I can't move me and my daughter back in here with you, Sherlock. Moriarty almost got the best of you and that was after _five minutes_ with Eurus and you want to go play the violin with her every other Sunday?"

_(I fell and I've been apologizing for it ever since.)_

They'd had eighteen months together, him and John. Eighteen perfect months. And then Moriarty came and made Sherlock kill himself to save John. Sherlock was too clever, though. He got Moriarty in the end and then spent two years taking down the rest of Moriarty's web.

 _(I fell to save you but I hurt you instead_. _)_

When Sherlock was in Serbia taking out the last of Moriarty's (Eurus's) web, he'd been captured and tortured. So he retreated to his mind palace and built a room for John. It was a cupola at the very top of his mind palace. Stained glass windows went all the way around. There was sunshine and color. It was like a brighter version of the sitting room of his flat.

John was there. They would talk or Sherlock would play his violin. They would have tea. In the colorful and bright room at the top of his mind palace, John was waiting for him to come home to Baker Street.

 _Baker Street?_ Mycroft said. _He isn't there anymore. You know, it is just possible that you won't be welcome._

It turned out Mycroft was right. John hadn't been at the flat.

_(I fell for you but you were already gone.)_

Sherlock had wanted to believe that Mary could make John happy. Even after Mary shot Sherlock. Even after all the lies and all the times she ran, Sherlock thought that together, Rosie and Mary could make John happy.

Then Mary died and nobody was happy, least of all John.

 _You made a vow! You_ promised _!_

 _Your life is not your own._ _Keep your hands off it._

_…if you were to come round asking after him, that he’d rather have anyone but you_

_(I fell and everything changed_. _)_

  _Can't do it alone. Not now_.

_Because you're a liar!_

_He's got weeks to live_.

 _Do you think this is a_ game?

_He's entitled – I killed his wife._

_You didn't kill Mary, Sherlock. She died saving your life. It was her choice. Nobody made her do it. Nobody could ever make her do_ anything.

 _In saving my life she conferred a value on it. It is a currency I do not know how to spend_.

_Do something while there’s still a chance, because that chance doesn’t last forever. Trust me, Sherlock – it's gone before you know it._

_(I fell and I just keep falling and falling and falling.)_

"Here's your tea," John said. "Sherlock? Are you okay?"

Sherlock looked at the cup of tea like it held all the answers. Then he looked up at John.

"Why wasn't I enough?" Sherlock asked, feeling the tears burning in his eyes, trying to keep them back.

"Enough for what?" John said.

"Why wasn't I enough for you? I fell to save you but it wasn't enough. Why wasn't it enough?"

"Sherlock – "

Sherlock stood up and took a step towards him. John took two steps back and turned away. Sherlock froze but John was just putting the mugs on the table next to his chair.

"That's your chair, John," Sherlock said, stabbing a finger at it. "Why don't you sit in it?"

"Sherlock," John said, putting up his hands. "You're not making any sense."

"I'm not?" Sherlock asked but it wasn't really a question. It was a plea, an entreaty, a prayer. He put his head in his hands and wept.

 _(Eighteen perfect months but then I fell. And I just keep falling_. _)_

"You were everything to me, John," Sherlock whispered, not looking up. "Not just _enough_ for me. Everything. Why wasn't _I_ enough for _you_?"

Sherlock looked up. John's head was shaking back and forth and he opened his mouth but nothing came out. He took a step towards Sherlock but then stopped.

"Why?" Sherlock gasped.

"I wasn't enough for you," John spat.

"You were _everything_ to me!"

"Then why did you keep leaving me?" John shouted. "You and Mary. The two of you thought you were so fucking clever and that I should feel special because you loved me. I wasn't good enough to make you stay. You. Kept. Fucking. Leaving me!"

"I've been right here," Sherlock said and wiped the tears angrily off his face. He slumped into his chair and leaned his head back. "I'm still right here."

"I can't, Sherlock. I can't do this," John said. "I have a daughter and – "

"You told me to do something while there was still a chance because it wouldn't be there forever," Sherlock said, the words coming out of him in rapid fire. "You were talking about Irene and I called her, John, I did, just like you advised. And you know what she told me?"

"No, I'm not going to do this with you," John said. He slashed his hand down through the air. "If I'm going to babysit someone I might as well go pick my daughter up from the sitter early."

Sherlock closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

_and_

_let_

_himself_

_fall_

_one last time_

"She told me to stop trying to save you and just kiss you."

"Excuse me?" John was in the process of bending over to pick up his briefcase. He straightened but didn't turn to face Sherlock.

"So you were right in the end, John, about telling me to take a chance and call Irene."

"Kiss me?" John said and rubbed his hands over his face.

"Just once," Sherlock said, walking slowly towards John. "Don't run."

"I'm not running, Sherlock," John said.

"You look like you're squaring up for a fight."

"I'm not squaring – "

"You've just spread your legs, lowering your center of gravity. It's a defensive posture."

"Well, you're - why now, Sherlock?"

"It's just a kiss, John. Kiss me and then you can go pick up Rosie and we'll never talk about this again."

"Things are just beginning to settle down and now you want to kiss me because Irene told you to? Besides that, I'm not – "

"Gay?"

Sherlock lifted his hands towards John's cheeks. John flinched but he didn't run and he didn't fight. Sherlock cupped John's face in his hands and John closed his eyes so Sherlock closed his eyes, too. He lowered his face until they were breathing the same air. John smelled the same way he'd always smelled – his deodorant and shampoo hadn't changed in all these years. Sherlock associated the smell of John with safety and sex and anxiety and longing.

He could feel John's breath coming out of his nose and fluttering against Sherlock's upper lip. Something wet hit Sherlock's lip and dripped onto his chin. John made a strangled noise high and tight from the back of his throat and Sherlock knew his time was up. He pressed his lips against John's and held it for eight seconds and then he pulled back, ready to let go.

"Thank you," he breathed and opened his eyes.

Sherlock's eyebrows drew together, confused. John was shaking with rage and crying. He grabbed the lapels of Sherlock's dressing gown and Sherlock brought his hands up and flinched, waiting for the blow.

"Don't leave me again," John hissed. "Do you hear me, Sherlock Holmes? You cannot kiss me and then leave again."

"I'm not – "

John reached up and tangled his fingers in Sherlock's hair and his lips landed on Sherlock's and Sherlock didn't hesitate. He put his arms around John and pressed their bodies together. John's mouth opened and his tongue darted out and ran along Sherlock's lower lip. Sherlock moaned quietly and opened his mouth to receive John's tongue. He untucked John's shirt and let his hands slip along John's skin.

"Sherlock," John whispered against his chin and Sherlock gasped.

"You kissed me back," Sherlock said and his breath hitched.

"I did."

"You're letting me touch your skin."

"Pretty much."

Sherlock pulled back and looked at him, unable to speak. Words – seven years of words – were lined up behind his mouth and the line twisted through his mind around and around and around all the way up to that cupola at the top of his mind palace. There was a little box on the mantle in that room and in it were five words. He picked them up and carried them out into the real world and gave them to John.

"I'm in love with you," he said.

John's laugh whispered against Sherlock's neck and Sherlock shivered.

"That's good," John said. "Because otherwise, this would be very awkward."

"You kissed me back," Sherlock said and brushed his hand through John's hair.

"Yep, we established that. I can kiss you again if – "

Sherlock kissed him instead and wrapped his body around John's. John's fingers – such beautiful, clever fingers – grazed the skin along Sherlock's waist and Sherlock exhaled roughly.

"I want to take your clothes off," Sherlock said against John's lips.

John's breath puffed against his lips in laughter.

"The bedroom, then?" John asked.

"I'll take mine off, too," Sherlock said, just in case John was worried that he would be the only one naked.

John rubbed his fingers against his forehead and his shoulders shook with silent laughter but he never let go of Sherlock.

"Come on, then," John said and held out his hand for Sherlock whose larger fingers wrapped delightfully around John's smaller hand.

They sat on the bed together while John took off his shoes and his socks. Sherlock never stopped staring at him, his eyes open in wonder. John turned to him and Sherlock raised his hands to the buttons on John's shirt at the very top. He hesitated and looked at John's face. John swallowed and nodded.

Slowly, with trembling hands, he unbuttoned John's shirt and then his cuffs and then pushed his shirt off. Before he could touch John's skin, John reached up and pushed off Sherlock's dressing gown and took the hem of Sherlock's t-shirt in his hands and pulled it gently up and off.

Then their fingertips were brushing on each other's skin and then their hands were solid and rough and their mouths were merciless and Sherlock ended up between John's legs and he was frantically trying to get John's jeans off and John was laughing and trying to smack Sherlock's fingers out of the way so he could help him.

When John pushed his jeans down, his underwear caught on his erection and Sherlock stared at it. Finally John freed himself and pushed all the rest of his clothes off. He was naked and it took Sherlock's breath away. Longing, hot and raw, curled in his abdomen and between his legs.

"Sherlock," John whispered and Sherlock realized that John was trying to get Sherlock's pajama bottoms off.

Sherlock's bottoms caught on his erection, too, which he found funny and he pressed his face into John's neck and laughed and John dug his fingers into Sherlock's hair.

John's hands trailed down Sherlock's back and they slid their bodies against each other and Sherlock stopped laughing and started trying to devour John starting with his neck, licking and sucking. He wanted to bite John but he'd been given the impression that it was juvenile to leave bruises on one's lover.

"Can I bite you?" he asked.

John pulled away a little to look at Sherlock. "Yes, of course. I mean – you know. Don't draw blood. It's normal, you know that. You're the one who told me that people leave bruises on their lovers as a way of marking them as taken. You know – _this is mine_."

"This is mine," Sherlock said and bit John's neck right above his collarbone.

"Hey! Everyone will be able to see that!"

"That's the point," Sherlock said.

He pressed his lips against the same spot, pushed his tongue down and then sucked really hard. John exhaled with a moan and the ache in Sherlock's belly became a ravenous hunger. He caught John's lips with his a little savagely, teeth bumping against lips.

Sherlock tried to catalogue each sound and scent and the way John's eyes fluttered closed when Sherlock gripped the skin at his hip, his thumb digging into the hollow of his pelvic bone but it was all happening too fast so he stopped trying and just let it all wash over him. They rocked against each other and John wrapped his legs around Sherlock, making even more blood shunt to Sherlock's groin.

"I'm surprised I'm still conscious," Sherlock whispered in amazement to John.

"Hm?"

"Because I think there must be two litres of blood in my cock."

John tilted his head back and laughed.

"You kissed me back," Sherlock said again, in wonder.

"We're rubbing our cocks against each other and that's what you're fixated on?" John asked.

His voice was affectionate and sultry and exasperated and he looked at Sherlock with such heat that Sherlock rolled his hips against John with a vicious thrust. John's eyes closed and his head tilted back a little and Sherlock captured his mouth and then let his teeth scrape along John's jaw.

John reached down between them and his clever, brilliant, gorgeous fingers swept over the head of both of their penises, smearing the slippery wetness over and around and between them and suddenly the friction was so much better and Sherlock's self-control fell away. He buried his face in John's neck and bit down on John's shoulder when he came, the orgasm tearing through his body, wiping everything clean with a great, blinding rush.

He wasn't even recovered when his eyes opened and he saw John let go of Sherlock's cock and focus on his own but Sherlock's less-clever fingers stumbled their way in and he wrapped his hand around John and stroked him through his own orgasm, watching his face and breathing in his smell and listening to the groaning gasping way John said his name.

John opened his eyes, his face flushed, their sweat and semen mingling and Sherlock, curious, lifted his hand up and licked John's semen off of the webbing of skin between his thumb and the rest of his fingers. He grimaced and John laughed.

"It doesn't taste very well," he said.

"Sherlock." John said his name in a new way that made Sherlock's heart pound and his chest constrict. He pressed his forehead against John's.

_(I fell and you caught me.)_

 

* * *

 

Thank you to [Ariane Devere](https://arianedevere.dreamwidth.org/) for her fantastic transcriptions of all four seasons of  _Sherlock_.

Thank you to [DiscordantWords](http://archiveofourown.org/users/DiscordantWords/pseuds/DiscordantWords) for this line  _I jumped and nothing was ever right again_. It's from her work titled [(Never) Turn Your Back on the Sea](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9848774). That line was the inspiration for this entire work.

Thank you also to all of my readers. I fell and you caught me. (And yes you're  _mine_. I mark you!)

 

* * *

 

_Have heart, my dear_

_We're bound to be afraid_

_even if it's just for a few days_

_making up for all this mess._

_-_ "Run" by Snow Patrol

**Author's Note:**

> I always welcome emails from readers about anything that tickles your fancy, even if it's just randomness!
> 
> archiveofMYown@gmail.com  
> Teddy


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